


The Lord in the Tower

by kitkatkaylie



Series: Theonsa Week 2021 [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Both of them are Traumatised, Dark, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Theonsa Week, and it is manifesting in different ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29888664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: All Theon seemed to do was wait for those brief moments when Sansa would come into his tower and light up his world with noise and colour.For the prompt: Captive
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Series: Theonsa Week 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197584
Kudos: 12
Collections: Theonsa Week





	The Lord in the Tower

The walls loomed over him, tall and foreboding and so very cold. Their grey stones matched the ceiling and floor, an endless sea broken only by the furnishings and wall hangings. 

Light filtered in through the single window, illuminating the round walls and the door that was near constantly locked. Sometimes, if he squinted and looked hard enough, he could almost convince himself that he could see the ocean upon the horizon.

He couldn't though, he could only see the same view as always: the Godswood in which he had nearly died, the courtyard which had seen so many of his humiliations, and the glittering ribbon of a river beyond the castle walls.

Theon did not often look out of the window, it hurt to have freedom so close and yet so unattainable. It was almost crueler, to be in his comfortable tower room than to be in the kennels as he had been with Ramsay.

At least in the kennels his place had been clear to all.

Theon sighed and picked up the book he had been reading, it was a history of Bear Island, a tome of the type that he had never been interested in as a youth. The sort he all but seemed to inhale now, with little else to do but read books he was allowed to choose in his fortnightly excursions to the library. 

There were other projects that he had started, an attempt at painting, at stitching, at knitting. Projects he would have once scoffed at, and derided, but that he now tried in a vein attempt to alleviate the boredom of being alone.

All he seemed to do was wait for those brief moments when Sansa would come into his tower and light up his world with noise and colour. She would enter like a whirlwind, carrying plates of good food, or a book she thought he might like, or even news of his sister. Even when it was dark outside, her presence seemed to bright sunshine into his comfortable cell. 

But Sansa was busy and those moments were few and far between.

And sometimes, just sometimes, Theon found himself resenting her for locking him away. 

Sometimes he wanted to scream and shout and throw things around, to fight against the world and his confinement. He had tried that at the beginning, had thrown things, and beat his fists bloody against the locked door, had even contemplated the jump from his window (there had been no snow on the ground though, nothing to cushion his fall like his jump from the walls).

It hadn’t lasted long though, that phase, not when it had resulted in nothing more than a messy room and his hands needing to be splinted by a Maester who would not respond to anything he said. 

His next phase had been the one which Sansa admitted had worried her the most. He had shut down. Completely and utterly. All he had done was sleep and stare at the walls. 

Theon did not know how long that stage had lasted, all the days had blended together. All he remembered was Sansa crying, and begging him to please respond to her. Everything was covered in a fog of not caring, and he had not returned to himself until Sansa had taken him from the room to the Maester’s tower. He did not know if it was the change of scenery, or the sheer desperation in Sansa’s voice that had brought him back to himself, only that he had been unable to return to the numbness once he had left it. 

Sometimes he missed the fog. It had been easier. 

But he could not find it, no matter how much he searched. He was left to experience every single day as it came, every monotonous moment of his captivity.

Footsteps upon the stair jolted him from his thoughts, they were the sound he listened out for every day, the whisper of skirts and the click of heels. They were the sound of Sansa coming to visit him, to enter his lonely existence and allow him a few brief moments of companionship.

The heavy key clunked in the lock, foreboding and welcoming at the same time. Sometimes Theon wanted to snatch the key, and throw it from the walls, but such a thing would be useless.

It wasn’t even like the key was the only thing keeping him captive, as the cold sound of the heavy bolts being drawn open reminded him.

He did not bother to turn around as the door opened. There was no point. Besides if he did watch the door closely then Sansa might think he was planning to try to escape again, and he did not want to lose what little freedoms he had to such fear.

It took mere moments after he first heard the key for a curtain of red hair to enter his vision. 

“Hello, my love,” Sansa pressed a kiss to his forehead, “How has your day been?”

Theon leaned into her touch, desperate for more, “The same as usual. I slept, ate the food you had sent for me, read some more of my book. I think the highlight of my day was when a bird flew past the window.”

His voice sounded dead to his own ears, and he knew that it would cause Sansa distress but he could not bring himself to really care.

Her hand caressed his cheek and she sighed sweetly, “Oh, Theon. I wish I could make you happy, what would it take to have you smile again?”

Theon twisted so he could press a kiss to her palm, “Let me go outside. Please, let me see sunlight, and my sister, and- and please just let me have some fresh air.”

His eyes slipped closed after his desperate plea, he did not want to see the sorrow and guilt in her eyes as she denied him once more. 

A soft kiss was pressed to each of his eyelids, and he couldn’t hold in the whimper that slipped from his lips.

“I wish I could let you,” Sansa said, sounding so very sorrowful, “But I have to keep you safe. There is so much danger out in the world, danger I nearly lost you to before. I can’t lose you again.”

She sat down next to him, the cushion dipping a little under her weight and tipping Theon into her side. He has lost most of the little muscle that had survived Ramsay since his captivity had started, wasting away from disuse until he was as soft as any pampered southern prince.

A bitter laugh left his lips at that thought, even as Sansa’s arm wrapped around him, he was no warrior anymore. He had joined the songs that Sansa was so fond of; only instead of being a warrior or prince, the way he thought he might have been as a child, he was now the maiden locked in the tower. And there was no handsome knight coming to rescue him. 

He laughed and laughed and laughed, until tears streamed from his eyes and the laughter had turned to sobs. He was never leaving the tower, never going to see his family again, perhaps he should just accept that and stop fighting.

After all, he was so tired of fighting and losing. And Sansa was far kinder than any of his other captors had been.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


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